The Apple Pie Life
by TheSakuraBreeze
Summary: Dean has always loved baking pie and finally has his pie shop, one of the best in the whole state. One day he gets a new customer, Castiel, who has just moved in to the city and appears to have more baggage than he's willing to admit and a strange connection to one of the most prominent nights in Dean's memory.
1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester's passion had always been pie.

He loved smelling it, eating it and, most of all, making it for other people.

It started with his mother, Mary – she made the best pies in the world. His family would eat her pies at least once a week around the table, after dinner, smiling and laughing, like the picture-perfect kind of household.

Mary had smiled and chuckled softly when Dean asked her to teach him how to make pies, but taught him almost every night.

It was obvious that John had his reservations about this. He thought it was a waste of time, his son baking pies when he could have been playing football or baseball or learning how to fix a car. Dean _did_ learn how to fix up a car and he loved it, but never as much as he loved baking pies with his mother. Baking pies had been the highlight of his days.

But, his apple pie life ended abruptly when his mother died in a house fire.

His father turned to drinking and as soon as he was old enough to work, Dean had to cover most of their expenses, including saving up for college for Sam, since their dad had spent almost all of their college funds paying off his debts and buying booze. Dean's dream of opening a pie shop was starting to look unattainable.

When his father was having a particularly bad day, like when he had been fired from yet another job that he had had for only a couple of days or just when he was in a bad mood, he would take out his anger and frustration on Dean. He tried to go for Sam occasionally, but Dean always managed to get in the way because of the simple fact that his father favored Sam.

But Dean could never bring himself to resent Sam for that. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Dean felt responsible for Sam. He had to protect and look after him. Hell, sometimes he even provoked his father to keep Sam from being the one who got hurt.

He had a rough time growing up, even as a teenager, getting into regular fights on top of it all, but Sam was the reason that he was able to get through it. Sam and the memory of beautiful blue eyes, which seemed so endless and deep that Dean could lose himself in them.

* * *

Many years later, after Sam had received a full ride at Stanford, Dean was finally able to have his pie shop and was living as close to that perfect life as he thought he would get.

Sam was in college, and doing fantastically along with his girlfriend, his dad was lord knows where, Bobby had fixed up an old Impala and given it to Dean, his ability to pick up a pretty blonde was as good as ever and Dean's shop slash café was fairly successful. He had a comfortable life going.

In the mornings he would wake up, a lot of the time with a very mild hangover, get dressed, go downstairs from his apartment and into the store, set up, let his employees in and get to work. His work days were an absolute pleasure. During the day, he would make pies, with the help of one other pastry chef, and when he had a free moment, he would banter with his staff and maybe flirt with a few of the pretty customers that came by.

He would take a lunch break in the early afternoon; maybe give Sammy a quick check-up call, then go back to making pies. He would close up shop at 6:00pm, let out the employees that had come in for the afternoon shift and then, after eating some dinner, he would go out for a drink at a different bar every night. Sometimes he would pick up a girl, go home with her and get back to his apartment in time for a few hours of sleep and other times he would just have a few beers and then go home for a long night's sleep.

Even though he was usually the kind of guy who hated routines, was driven up the wall by them, he was pretty content with everything.

Except one small detail that he couldn't remember. One tiny detail that had been gnawing at the back of his mind since the night his dad had become even more drunk than he had ever been, the night that he didn't like to talk about. He could not for the life of him remember who the blue eyes belonged to, the blue eyes that he had long since associated with his savior, maybe even his guardian angel if he stretched it.

He tried not to think about it, though. He figured that that night was best forgotten completely, blue eyes or no.

So he carried on with his life, going through his days with normalcy.

* * *

Then, one Saturday morning, something unexpected walked into his shop.

A man, wearing a suit, with a pair of blue eyes that sent a shudder of recognition through Dean so deep that he could have sworn that the ground beneath him was shaking.

Dean had been taking a short break from baking and was chatting up a young brunette from behind the bar counter while he took some orders when the man walked in and all he could do for a good few seconds was stand and stare at him, somewhere between being in shock and denial. He quickly snapped out of it and flashed the brunette another grin when the man made his way over and grabbed a seat a few chairs down.

He chatted with the girl for a little bit longer before, somewhat reluctantly, going to speak to his new customer.

"What can I get ya?" He asked, giving him a friendly smile and hoping that the shock wasn't too obvious on his face. The man paused for a moment and Dean swore that he looked a little surprised.  
"I will, uh," The man glanced up at the chalk board overhead, his voice gravelly, as if he'd just woken up, "I will have apple pie and a cup of coffee. Milk and Sugar."  
"Coming right up," He smiled again and made his way into the kitchen while trying to ignore the feeling gnawing at the back of his mind.

* * *

The man kept coming back almost every day after that. On weekends he would come in the mornings or the afternoons and during the week he would come at lunch time or in the late afternoon. Most days he would order the same apple pie and wear the same, almost awed, expression, like it was God's gift to the earth and Dean couldn't help but smile to himself and watch out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, after two or three weeks of this routine, Dean spoke up.

"So, what's your name?" He asked, leaning on the counter – he was taking another one of his semi-frequent breaks.

"What?" The man asked, sounding genuinely surprised, in between bites of his pie.

"Your name. What is it?" He repeated, the corner of his lips turning up into a slight smirk. "You come here almost every day; I ought to know the name of one of my favourite customers." This remark earned him a small frown from the man in front of him and a not-so-small scoff from one of his employees in the kitchen.

"He says that to every gorgeous woman that walks in here," Someone, probably Jo, called from inside the kitchen.

"Oh, shut up," Dean called back, trying to ignore the slight burning in his cheeks and what his embarrassment meant. This, however, got him a small smile from the man, which he couldn't help but return.

"My name is Castiel," He said evenly. "You are Dean, correct?"

"Uh, yeah, how'd you know that?" He couldn't help the caution that crept into his tone.

"Don't worry, I'm not a stalker," he could have sworn that he just saw a smirk on the man's lips. "Some of the, uh, female customers talk about you a lot. And not too quietly, I might add."

"Really?" He pretended to sound surprised. He knew that he had a reputation of sorts amongst the ladies and being humble wasn't one of his talents. Castiel just smiled faintly at this. "So, anyway, d'you mind if I call you Cas?" Castiel blinked, seeming hesitant for a moment.

"Sure," He said, sounding a little surprised.

"So, Cas, how did you find this place? You don't exactly seem like the type for pie and coffee. You seem more of a fine-dining kind of guy," Dean gestured to his suit and gave him a lop-sided grin.

"Well, I just transferred to this city for my work and I was investigating the city one morning when I had some free time, when I saw this establishment. It," He paused for a moment, swallowing slightly, and Dean couldn't help but chuckle internally at his formal language, "reminded me of someone I used to be acquainted with."

Dean wasn't entirely sure why, but he couldn't help but feel a little jealous at the fact that Castiel might be thinking of someone else when he seemed so happy eating his pie.

"I see and what do you work as?"

"I work for the FBI," He stated and Dean couldn't help but feel a little shocked at that. Apart from the suit, there was nothing about him that remotely said "FBI" and Dean would have never guessed it in a million years, which is why a small "huh" was all Dean could get out in response.

"Well, I gotta get back to work," Dean said after a moment or two of weirdly awkward-yet-comfortable silence. "Do you maybe wanna go grab a beer sometime?"

"I am generally not one for beer," Castiel began and Dean felt a small pang of disappointment as he thought he was going to get rejected (and why was that such a big deal, anyway?), "But I will join you."

"Great," He grinned, taking a step back. "I'll chat to ya later." And with that, Dean disappeared back into the kitchen, stupid grin still on his face, leaving Castiel to his thoughts.

When Dean emerged again, Castiel was gone – cue inexplicable pang of disappointment – but in his place was a napkin and on it was a phone number, scrawled in insanely neat handwriting, which left Dean thinking, _holy shit did I just pick up a Dude?_

* * *

That night, after Dean had closed up shop, he sat on his couch, TV blaring in the background, and stared at the phone number, wondering if he should call or not. He groaned loudly, knowing no one would hear him.

Why on earth was he making such a big deal about this? This customer of his happening to have the same eye colour as were in his memories didn't mean a thing.

Sighing resolutely, he punched the numbers into his cellphone and pressed the 'Dial' button. After only a few rings there was a click and Castiel's unmistakable voice came.

"Hello?"

"What are you, a teenage girl? Leaving me your number like that."

"Hello, Dean." And those two words resonated with him so absolutely, that he could hardly keep himself from shuddering.

"So, bar? Tomorrow night?"

"I am free then."

"Awesome, it's a date."

"Um-"

"It's a figure of speech, Cas," Dean interrupted him before he could refute what he said. He didn't know why but the last thing he wanted to hear right then were the words "it's not".

"Alright," He could almost hear the laughter in his tone.

"Well, I, uh, gotta go. Early morning tomorrow. See ya," Dean said, not having anything to talk about and not wanting to make an idiot out of himself by sitting for half an hour on the phone with Cas in what was mostly silence, something that he'd actually probably be pretty comfortable doing.

"Goodbye, Dean."

* * *

When he fell asleep that night, he heard the same words that Castiel had said to him earlier in his dream.

He was dreaming about the night he wished he could just forget. The night when Sam had ended up in hospital.

Dean couldn't have been any older than fifteen.

That was the night that their father had lost everything, absolutely everything, all their money, their property, even his beloved car, while gambling.

He came home that night, more drunk than he'd ever been and even angrier than Dean had ever seen him – and he'd seen him pretty damn angry before. At first he just sat on the couch, hands clenched together, physically shaking with the anger that was inside him that was beginning to boil over.

Dean, wasn't stupid, he knew the signs when he saw them. He took his brother upstairs almost as soon as his father walked through the front door and they sat in their shared bedroom apprehensively. Dean assured Sam that everything would be okay, even though he knew that there was every chance that everything would turn to Hell after that night.

When they heard their dad's heavy footsteps come up the stairs and towards their room, Dean's throat closed up for a moment.

"Everything's going to be just fine, Sammy," He croaked, smiling weakly. He knew it wasn't going to be okay. But he was going to do everything that he could to keep his brother from being hurt.

When John threw the door open, Dean stood up, putting himself in between him and Sam, and squared his shoulders, trying to make himself look as big as possible. Without a word John stalked towards him and collided the back of his hand with Dean's face hard enough to send him tumbling to the side. Once Dean was on the floor, he walked forwards. Towards Sam.

In a panic, Dean grabbed John's leg and tried to trip him up, but all that happened was Dean getting two kicks to the face and three to the stomach, leaving him coughing and spluttering. All he could do for a good minute or two was watch as John grabbed Sam by the arm and drag him out of the room. He heard fighting and shouting and crashing and by the time he got up and ran towards the sound, Sam was on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, broken glass scattered about and blood running from his face and lord knows how many other places. But he wasn't dead. Dean could see from there, the rise and fall of his brother's chest.

Even so, that was when Dean lost it. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist and almost everything after that was lost in a blind rage.

He found John, stalking towards him and threw punches and kicks, which John threw right back. He landed a punch to John's jaw. John landed a punch to his jaw. Punches. Kicks. Elbows. Knees. And then somehow Dean was on the floor, his head thudding against the wood beneath it, hands tightening around his throat. He felt wetness and soreness all over and all he could see was John's face. John's seething, hateful face. Everything was starting to go black.

Then, he heard a faint fluttering sound. John disappeared. Dean turned his head to see his father flying across the room. He barely had the capacity to think, _What in the Hell?_

He heard footsteps and then his torso was being lifted up gently. He felt faint panic at the back of his mind, but his brain still lacked enough oxygen to do anything. Then there were blue eyes above him. Infinitely blue eyes. But they were so, so sad and Dean frowned as he tried to figure out why. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when the figure above him spoke first, in a deep, gravelly voice.

"Hello, Dean."

He felt the pressure of two fingers on his forehead and then, he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up with a start.

He was breathing heavily and he could feel a few trickles of sweat on his forehead. He had dreamt about that night many times, especially after he and Sam had moved in with Bobby, but it hadn't left him feeling so heavy in a very long time.

The sound of the voice from that night resounded in his mind. It sent a strange chill down his spine. Why did the voice from his memories sound so much like Castiel? There were so many things that made so little sense and Dean felt like his head could split from all the questions buzzing around inside it.

He stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes, trying futilely to find some logical answer for what had to either be a delusion in his half-beaten state or an extremely strange coincidence. Coming up with nothing, he checked his clock.

06:05 a.m.

It was early – way too early for him to be awake – but there was no way he was getting back to sleep now. So, he got up and took a shower. Even though he tried his best to push them aside, thoughts of his dream and of Castiel kept going around and around in his brain as he showered, as he got dressed, as he ate, as he opened up shop and even as he baked – which was something that usually took over his thoughts completely.

He was more than a little disappointed when Castiel didn't show up that day during lunch, not that Dean would ever say so out loud, but even so, he knew all that he could do was suck it up and carry on working.

His work day went fairly slowly for the first time since he could remember and he kept noticing that Jo was sneaking him glances and cheeky grins.

_Seriously, what the hell?_

At about 5:30pm, Castiel finally walked through the front door of the shop, still wearing his usual suit, with his tie slightly loose and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. _Wow._

Dean immediately pushed that thought away, serving up pies to the last few customers of the evening.

"Hey, Cas," Dean called, shooting him a grin and motioning for him to sit at the counter as he usually did, ignoring the "Hello, Dean" that he got in return. He made sure to smile at the pretty red-head, who was sitting with two of her friends, as he set down a blueberry pie in front of her.

Once he was done with the evening's orders, he stood on the other side of the counter, as he had the day before. "You're here later than usual." He smiled again.

"I was unable to come here for my lunch break," He said, by way of explanation, and when Dean frowned, he blanked. "I had a lot of work to do and I wanted to get as much of it done as possible before I came here. I thought it would be a good idea to come here first instead of meeting you at a bar I don't know and risk getting lost."

Dean couldn't help but smile at this.

"Alright," He nodded, "well, there's still half an hour till we close. Can I get you anything in the meantime?"

"Is there any apple pie left?"

"All out, sorry," and when Castiel looked genuinely sad, he added, "but I'll save some for you tomorrow."

"Thank you," Castiel said with a small smile. "I'll just have some coffee."

"Coming right up," He grinned again, before disappearing for a moment and coming back with piping hot coffee, the same way Cas always ordered it. "On the house, tonight," He said as he put the coffee down in front of Castiel, earning him a smile of genuine thanks, which surprised Dean a little. It was just coffee.

Dean smiled in return and moved on to finish up with the remaining customers and close everything up.

* * *

They eventually left after 08:00 p.m.

Dean finished closing everything up at around half past six, but he wanted to change out of his work clothes, which were a white T-shirt, black pants and a dirty apron, and take another shower. Castiel said that he didn't mind and waited in Dean's apartment. When Dean returned from his shower, freshly clad in a black shirt with a blue jacket over it and jeans, he found Cas wandering around his living room, looking at the pictures of him and Sam, in some of which they were with Bobby, that were hanging on the walls.

"This is your brother?" He asked, as if sensing Dean's presence in the room.

"Yeah, that's Sammy," Dean replied, fondness creeping into his tone, completely ignoring the question of how Cas knew he had a brother. "He's in College now."

"Really? What is he studying?"

"Law. He's a really smart kid, you know? He got a full ride at Stanford and everything."

"I see. You must love your brother very much; there are pictures of you and him everywhere. And is this man your father?" He pointed to a picture of Bobby. There was something odd about his tone, something Dean couldn't put his finger on, as if he already knew the answer.

"Not exactly. Our father was… Well, he was crappy. When I was about fifteen, there was an incident and we had to move in with Bobby. He was one of our dad's old friends, but they were nothing alike. Bobby took good care of us."

Castiel smiled knowingly. They talked for a little while longer, before heading out, leaving in Dean's black Impala.

* * *

Once they were at the bar and had had a few drinks, their conversation's pace picked up quite a bit. Dean blabbered on about his precious little brother and how he basically raised him, obviously leaving out the details about that night, and, although his lips were much tighter than Dean's, Castiel talked a little about his own family, even though he was pretty vague about it.

He rarely saw his father growing up and was also raised by his siblings, though his brothers and sisters were nowhere near as good at parenting as Dean (Castiel's words, not Dean's). Castiel was very obedient growing up and his siblings were able to manipulate him into doing many things he didn't necessarily want to. When he eventually put his foot down and said 'no', something about someone he cared about a lot, they kicked him out.

"Well, life ain't peachy for anyone, I suppose," Dean commented when Castiel was done with his story.

"Yes, everyone faces their hardships. But we both could have turned out worse."

"I hear you there," He laughed. "Man, I was worried I wouldn't be able to open my shop after our dad started drinking. But here I am, livin' the good life."

"I am glad you were able to," Castiel said in a way that gave Dean the feeling that there was a lot more meaning behind it than a simple 'well done' or 'your pies are great'.

"Here's to not being as screwed up as we could have been," Dean grinned and held his beer bottle up, clinking it with Cas'.

"I thought you said that you didn't like beer," He half-teased.

"I said that I am generally not for it, but it doesn't mean that I won't drink it if the occasion calls for it."

"Oh, yeah? And what's the occasion?"

"A new acquaintance. Or friend, if you don't think that's stretching it." He shot Dean another one of his small smiles. Dean felt his heart, and possibly his face, warm a little, which must have shown in his expression because Castiel's smile broadened slightly. He could never easily develop friendships, other than those he had developed with his employees like Jo. Probably a result of his pie-and-sam-are-everything outlook on life.

"Well, a good enough occasion I guess," He nodded towards the other and then waved to get the bar tender's attention, ordering them two more beers.

* * *

When they eventually left the bar, they were both pretty tipsy. Well, Dean was tipsy. Castiel was practically drop-dead drunk. The guy wasn't lying when he said he didn't usually drink – he could barely hold his alcohol at all and with Dean constantly ordering more drinks, he didn't realize this until it was too late. He guided his new friend back to the car, having hoisted Castiel's arm around his shoulder and hooked his own around Castiel's waist in order to steady him, while he tried to ignore his drunken babbling.

"You know, Dean, you have a great jawline," was what Dean could make out from his slurring, but it sounded more like, "Y'know, Deann, y'have greaaat jawlin."

"Yes, yes, I'm a supermodel, now would you get in the car?" Dean retorted as he stood on the passenger side of the car, slurring a little himself and trying to coerce Cas inside. After eventually managing to get Cas into his seat and buckled up, Dean got into his own seat and drove as cautiously as was possible in his state.

"Dean, Deean," Cas was saying, but Dean was mostly ignoring him at this point. "You're really great. The way you take care of your brother? It's great. I mean, before Stanford, you were willing to give up your pie shop dream just to send him to college. That's really, really great. You're such a great person."

Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye, shock slowly creeping into his mind. How did he know that? Dean hadn't mentioned it in any of their conversations. _No_, Dean shook his head. He had probably mentioned it somewhere in between drinks and then forgotten. That was probably it.

Even so, no matter how much reasoning he did in his head, he couldn't shake the feeling that Castiel knew something more, or that there was more to him, than he was letting on. But Dean didn't really want to think of it right now. All he wanted to do was go to bed.

But no matter how many times he asked, he couldn't get Castiel's address out of him. He kept changing the subject and babbling on about something else. So Dean just drove them both back to his place, not really minding either way.

He half-walked, half-dragged Castiel through the store, up the stairs (which were hidden away in a small room at the back), and into his apartment. It was a very difficult task, with Castiel being mostly dead weight, but he'd done it before and he was used to it. He knew how to handle drunk people.

Once they were in the front door, he leaned Castiel against a wall while he went to fetch bedding for him.

"Do you mind sleeping on the couch? I have a spare blanket and stuff. I'd let you sleep in the spare room, but Sammy's coming to visit soon and-"

He stopped his sentence short when he found the room where he had left Castiel empty. Groaning when he heard a _thump_ in his bedroom, he walked there to see Castiel already passed out on his king-sized bed. He slumped his shoulders and groaned. No way was he sleeping on the couch. Deciding that he was way, way too tired to try and wake Castiel up again, he just shut off the lights and crawled into bed as well, but lay as far away from him as he could.

* * *

When he woke up, they were close. Way too close. Sometime during the night Castiel had gotten underneath the duvet and they had both rolled closer to the center of the bed. But the only thing Dean was uncomfortable about the situation was just how comfortable he was lying there with Castiel and his level of discomfort was not helped by his morning wood.

Just as he was about to get up and take yet another shower to clear his head, he heard the front door click. _Shit._

Footsteps thudded softly through his apartment.

"Hey, Dean," His brother called from near the front door. "You're late for work. Be glad that I have a spare key!"

Dean didn't respond even as the footsteps drew nearer. Perhaps if he kept quiet his brother would leave him alone and not see what would be a fairly hard-to-explain situation. Unfortunately for him, that prediction was very wrong and a few seconds later, his brother swung the door open, saw Castiel lying next to Dean, who was now propped up on his elbows, and immediately took a step back.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Didn't realize you had company," Sam said with a tone that was a mixture of surprise and teasing. "Didn't realize you swung that way."

"It's not what you think, Sam," Dean explained, trying to make his voice as unwavering as possible. "Cas is just a friend."

"Right," he said dubiously, raising his eyebrows. Dean just shook his head.

"Well, I gotta shower and get to work. Like you said, I'm late."

"Okay, well I'll see you downstairs. Got a friend waiting for me."

"Friend?"

"Yeah, she's got family here as well and we ended up coming at the same time. I told her you made really great pies and she came almost right away." Sam grinned proudly before turning and leaving Dean's apartment before he could get in another word.

Right. Friend. Dean had his doubts about that.

* * *

When Dean got into the shower, he was painfully aware that Castiel was only a thin wall away and that he shouldn't do what he was about to do. But, he was horny and a little hung over, and rational thought was kicked out the door quickly.

He took ahold of his length and began stroking it, his breath quickening as it hardened. He started out indulging in of his usual fantasies; pretty blonde, bedroom, maybe with a few kinks that he would never admit to having out loud.

Then, he found his mind drifting. He thought of the sleeping man in the next room. He thought of his rough voice, the way he said his name. He thought of his eyes, his endlessly blue eyes, and how they stared at him occasionally.

Castiel overwhelmed his thoughts all of a sudden. His pace quickened and soon, he was coming with as muffled a moan as possible.

* * *

Dean came out of the bathroom, dressed in his usual white T-shirt and black pants for work, to find Castiel awake and standing awkwardly beside his bed. Dean felt his cheeks warm a little and hoped to hell that Cas didn't hear him. He couldn't bring himself to look Cas in the eye.

"Um, I'm sorry for last night, Dean. I, uh, misjudged my ability to consume alcohol." His voice sounded strained and he was squinting more than usual. Dean figured that he must have one hell of a hangover right then. "I hope I was not too much trouble."

"Nah, man it's fine. You were actually pretty friendly," He laughed, clapping Cas on the shoulder, but still avoiding eye contact. "Shower's open if you'd like to use it."

"If it's not too much trouble," He said carefully.

"It's no problem. It's also probably too late for you to go into work. You should call in sick and if you'd like you can come spend some time at the shop?"

"But-"

"Don't sweat it, Cas. Really, it's no trouble having you around. I'm sure Sammy'll get along with you as well."

"Your brother is here?"

"Yeah, he got here a little while ago. He's downstairs now. Anyway, go take a shower. I'll be downstairs if you need me."

* * *

Dean arrived at the shop to find Sam, Jo and a redhead all talking to each other in the kitchen. Well, with the way they hushed their voices and grinned at Dean as he walked in, he guessed that they were actually gossiping about him. And maybe the way Sam walked in to find him and Cas lying in bed together. Dean groaned.

"Seriously, guys? Enough with the sleepover chit-chat," He scolded as he joined them. "This your friend?"

"Yeah, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is my brother Dean," Sam introduced them. Charlie held out her hand and Dean shook it.

"Nice to meet you. Your brother never shuts up about you. Seriously, if I didn't fill my brain with knowledge on Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, I'd have your whole life story up there by now."

Dean laughed at this. He liked her already.

"I hope it's only good things. Although I have my doubts by the way you guys seem to gossip. Anyway, I gotta get to work," He said, a smile on his face. "And so do you, Jo. Feel free to stay a while, there should be some fresh pie coming out soon. As soon as I've got new pies in the oven, I'll come out for a while."

"Alright, see you later, Dean." Sam turned and exited the room.

"See you. Bye, Jo," Charlie made sure to smile; especially at Jo. Dean didn't miss the way she gave Jo a once-over before following Sam out the door. Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise. _Well what do you know? Maybe they are just friends._ And Dean also definitely didn't miss the way Jo watched Charlie leave, with a small smile on her lips, and couldn't help but grin to himself before getting to work.

* * *

When he came out of the kitchen, after having managed to lose himself in baking a dozen or so pies, sure enough, Castiel was there with Sam and Charlie. He looked more uncomfortable than Dean had ever seen him and he couldn't help but feel a little bit of pity for him.

"Here's your apple pie. On the house," He grinned at Cas as he set down the slice of pie that he had been carrying as he left the kitchen in the hopes that Castiel would be there. Sam raised his eyebrows at him again and Charlie was notably trying to suppress a giggle and Dean shot them both one of the best glares that he could muster.

"So we were just talking about Star Wars," Charlie explained. "And Cas hasn't seen it. Apparently he 'doesn't watch many movies'."

"What? Seriously?" Dean asked incredulously. He generally wasn't into geeky stuff, but his brother had talked him into watching Star Wars a couple of years ago and now he was wholly convinced that it was a franchise that everyone should watch.

"I don't get many opportunities to indulge in frivolities."

"Dude, you gotta loosen up. If the fact that you're such a light weight is anything to go by, you don't seem to get out much," Dean joked. Castiel just made a face at him in response.

"Then it's settled, we'll have a movie night," Charlie chimed.

"But I-"

"Cas. You don't get a say in this. You're coming." She spoke in a mock-threatening tone. Castiel sat back and looked resigned. It was clear that this wasn't an argument he could win.

"I will see what I can do."

"Atta boy!"

They spoke like that for another good hour or so, Sam, Dean and Charlie joking around and laughing and Castiel having an ever-growing smile on his usually-stoic face. It was very nice.

Until Castiel glanced out the window and his face turned as white as a ghost and his eyes widened more than Dean had thought was possible. He muttered something like "Uriel" before standing up abruptly.

"Are you-?" Dean began.

"I have to go," Castiel announced, his voice shaking notably and damn near ran out of the shop.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel didn't return to the shop for more than a week after the day he had bolted. After the second day with no sign of Cas, he tried calling him. No answer. He tried again the next night, and the next. Still no answer. Almost every night, he called Castiel, but he never answered. He was starting to grow more than a little restless and worried, even though he would never admit it out loud. Sammy had left already, making it painfully obvious that it was going to be okay and "I'm sure he's fine" and all that sappy crap. He even sent him a text a few minutes after he left, saying:

- _Cas seems nice. I like him._

Dean wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but it did make him smile a little.

He saw Charlie a few more times after Sam left and kept asking to see Jo, who happily emerged from the kitchen for a chat every time.

But, Dean couldn't smirk at their interactions as he usually would - he was too busy worrying about Castiel, which Charlie seemed to be picking up on.

One day, when she came in, she asked, "Where's Cas?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, shrugging. He tried to make his reply seem as casual as possible, but Charlie seemed to be psychic when it came to things like this.

"You're worried."

"I'm not," Dean lied, shrugging again, and mostly assured himself that, "He has his own stuff to do. He's probably working on a case."

"Uh-huh." She raised an eyebrow at him. "He's pretty cute, you know."

"I thought you were gay," He said, a little taken aback.

"I am." She grinned. Dean frowned. What the hell did that mean? But she didn't press the issue any further; she just smiled at him slyly and then carried on flirting with and chatting to Jo.

* * *

Dean wouldn't admit it, not in a million years, but he was starting to feel strangely lonely without Sam or Cas around. It was a weird feeling; it wasn't something he usually felt. Or, at least, it wasn't something he really noticed feeling before.

After a week of relentlessly calling Castiel, he gave up, a sinking feeling setting in. Was Castiel ever going to show up again? Had he gotten into some sort of trouble? What if he was just tired of Dean?

The last thought made him grimace. Honestly, he was acting like an angsty teenager. He shook his head, earning an odd look from Jo, and carried on with work.

Ironically, the day after he stopped calling was the day Castiel finally appeared again. When Dean came through to the front of the shop and saw him sitting there, casually as ever, he had to stop dead in his tracks, surprise blatant on his face.

The only way Dean could tell that something was off was the addition of a beige trench coat, pulled around him defensively, and a haunted, fearful look in his eyes, even though it was obvious Cas was trying to look normal.

He set down the plate that he was carrying in front of a customer, and then went straight to Castiel.

"Hey," He greeted with a hint of expectancy in his tone.

"Hello Dean," Was all Castiel said in reply.

"You okay, man? You looked pretty freaked when you ran out last week." Dean left out the obvious, '_you still look freaked now._'

"I am fine." Dean frowned in response.

"Really, now? What or who is 'Uriel', anyway?"

Castiel's face blanched at this.

"Where did you here that name?" He demanded, sounding a little frantic.

"Whoa, calm down, man. _You_ were the one who said it before you ran out of here."

Castiel said nothing.

"What's going on with you? Talk to me."

"Nothing is 'going on', Dean," He snapped. "At least nothing that is of your concern."

Dean felt a pang of hurt, but did his best not to let it show on his face.

"Fine," He said, not bothering to hide the annoyance creeping into his voice. "Whatever. I'll go get you an apple pie and some coffee."

He turned and stalked back into the kitchen, the doors swinging wildly as he shoved past them irritably. Jo opened her mouth, probably to ask what was wrong, but immediately shut it again when Dean shot her a glare.

He didn't speak to Cas when he reemerged from the kitchen. He looked at him for a moment as he set down his pie and coffee, but neither of them said anything and Dean retreated into the kitchen once more, hoping that baking would take his mind off things.

* * *

After that, Castiel disappeared again, but Dean didn't try calling him anymore. It was probably his pride getting in the way, but he decided that he wasn't going to be the one reaching out this time.

But there was no sign of him.

His phone rang a few days later and, whole-heartedly hoping that it was Castiel, he answered it in a rush.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dean." It was his brother.

"Oh, hey, Sammy," he tried not to sound too disappointed.

"Expecting someone else?"

"What? No. What's up?"

"I think I left one of my textbooks over there. Could you look for me?"

"Seriously? You brought your textbooks with you on break? You're such a nerd." He made his way into the spare room as he talked.

"Shut up. So has Cas turned up again?"

"Yeah. He came in the other day, but… He was acting weird. He wouldn't talk about what made him run out that day and hasn't appeared again since."

"I'm sure he'll come back." Dean had to keep himself from groaning.

"Yeah, listen, Sammy, I don't see it, but if I find it I'll be sure to send it over to you."

"Okay, see you later, Dean."

"Bye."

He shoved his phone into his pocket, feeling worse than he had before the phone call and dropped himself onto the couch, beer in hand.

* * *

That night, his phone rang for the second time.

He looked over at his clock and groaned. 03:19 a.m.

Who the hell would call him at this ungodly hour? Reluctantly, he reached over and picked up his cellphone.

"Hello?" He rasped, rubbing at his jaw.

"Hello, Dean," A familiar voice came.

"Cas?" Dean felt his sleepiness melt away in an instant.

There was a long pause and, for a moment, Dean thought that the line had been cut off.

"I'm sorry."

"What? What's going on, Cas?"

"I'm sorry I can't explain, but-"

"But what? Stop screwing around! Just- Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

"What do you mean, 'you can't'?"

"It's not safe, Dean. Again, I'm sorry. I wish circumstances were different. Goodbye, Dean."

The line went dead.

Dean tried again and again to call Castiel, but there was never any answer. Each time he called, each time Castiel didn't pick up, he felt dread building in the pit of his stomach. Even though he tried to ignore it, his mind was consumed by one, awful thought:

He was never going to see Castiel again.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey guys, apologies for the short chapter! I'm going away next Saturday (and won't have any internet) so I wanted to get something up before then. If I have time (and a big if) to get something more up before then, I will, but I doubt it will be possible. I'll probably write while I'm away but I don't get back until around the 14th of July so I won't be able to post anything until after that. But fear not, I haven't dropped this!

Please do let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was feeling pretty antsy after that. Every time he heard the door of the shop open when someone walked in, he practically jumped to check if it was Castiel.

It never was.

Charlie visited a few more times before she left for College again. The last time she was there, Dean walking in on her and Jo hooking up in one of the back rooms. Jo flushed and looked extremely embarrassed, but Charlie just grinned cheekily from over her shoulder.

Dean gave an amused huff, shook his head and then left them be. Even though Jo was supposed to be working, he figured that he could give her a break once in a while for putting up with all his crap for such a long time.

However, without Charlie as a distraction, Jo seemed to pick up on his restlessness. She now joined him on some of his breaks, something for which Dean was extremely grateful. It offered him a welcomed distraction from the inherent lack of Castiel. They mostly chatted about arbitrary things, but once or twice Cas' name had come up.

"You miss him, don't you?" Jo asked after he had made some comment about the night he and Castiel had gone out drinking together.

"He has his own shit to do," was all Dean said in reply. Jo frowned but didn't press the issue any further.

Of course, he never mentioned the late-night phone call. He wasn't ready for that conversation. He didn't know if he ever would be – he tended to avoid conversations about feelings as much as he could, and he was one hundred percent sure that that conversation would turn in that direction.

But something about the concerned look in Jo's eyes told him that she was suspicious.

* * *

During the time that Castiel was absent, Dean started to have very strange dreams.

Upon waking up, though, he could only remember small fragments of them.

All he could remember about most of his dreams were feathers. Hundreds and hundreds of feathers. And an almost blinding, pure, white light that felt strangely comforting.

But there was one dream in particular that, although it was still fragmented, he could remember better than the rest.

There was a lot of heat and a sense of closeness. He would call it verging on a suffocating kind of closeness, but he felt oddly at ease. There was movement – a lot of frantic, almost desperate movement.

He remembered dark hair and hands everywhere. There were clothes strewn across the far end of what he guessed had to be the small, dark room of a cabin.

And the most prominent thing that he remembered was a pair of familiar, piercing, blue eyes.

* * *

Every time he had that dream, Dean awoke with a groan. Even though his memory of the dream was in fragments, it didn't take much to figure out what it was about and he wasn't exactly too happy about having that kind of dream about a guy. In fact, he would have done his best to avoid said guy after those dreams if said guy wasn't already avoiding _him_.

Even if said guy was Castiel.

One morning, after having an array of extremely strange dreams, with some mention or warning of this 'Uriel' person somewhere in the mix and all involving Castiel in some way, he woke up with a very dark, ominous feeling hanging over him.

He had woken up plenty of times feeling groggy or unmotivated or depressed, but he had never felt _this_ before.

Something bad was going to happen. He just knew it. And the name Uriel was practically ringing in his ears.

The whole time that he had this feeling clawing at the back of his mind, his thoughts drifted to Castiel. He didn't know why, but thinking of him was very comforting. As if his presence would keep him safe.

That entire day, he had no thoughts of pie, none of Jo and Charlie's blooming romance and none, even more surprisingly, of Sam. Just Castiel.

Jo's concern seemed to multiply tenfold at the obvious tension in Dean's muscles and his extreme jumpiness that day.

"What's up with you?" she had asked at one point, when Dean was completely distracted from pie-making by the thoughts buzzing around in his head.

"Hm? Nothing," he mumbled and hastily returned to preparing his pies.

* * *

His gut feeling had turned out to be very accurate when, that evening, a large, stoic, dark-skinned man dressed in a suit just _appeared _(Dean could have sworn he heard a semi-familiar fluttering sound) while he was closing up shop.

"Sorry, we're closed. Come back tomorrow," Dean said absently as he stacked chairs on top of the tables.

"You are Dean Winchester?" the man asked in a low voice. Dean stiffened and turned to face the man in what he hoped to be a calm manner.

"Who's asking?" he replied venomously.

"My name is Uriel."

"Uriel?" Dean repeated incredulously.

"Yes," Uriel nodded slowly, his eyebrows knitted into a mildly confused frown.

Then Dean did something which, upon reflection, was probably very stupid. He dropped the chair he was holding onto the table beside him loudly and then stormed over to Uriel, personal space be damned.

"What did you do to Cas?" he demanded angrily.

"Oh, you mean Castiel? In fact, I came to ask you the same question," Uriel spoke with an intimidating calmness. "Where is he?"

"How the hell should I know?! I don't have him on a _leash_."

"I do not appreciate being lied to, Winchester."

"Even if I did know where he is, which I _don't_," He spat. "Why the fuck would I tell you?"

There were no clear signs of anger on Uriel's face, he appeared to remain as calm and emotionless as ever, but there was a very distinct shift in the air around him and Dean just _knew_ that his patience was wearing thin. But that didn't stop him from being the snarky son of a bitch that he was in those kinds of situations.

"Do not test my patience, child."

"Why not? Scared you'll get your ass kicked if you get angry?"

And then, there was a hand clamping down on his throat, holding him up high enough that his toes barely brushed the floor. Damn this guy was so much stronger than he should have been.

"Fine," Uriel sneered. "If you will not tell me where Castiel is, I will make him come to me."

Dean heard that fluttering sound again and he could have sworn that they were suddenly in some sort of warehouse, but he didn't have time to find out because, a few seconds later, he passed out.

* * *

When Dean woke up again, his head was throbbing. He blinked away the remnants of the nonsensical dreams he had been having, Castiel's grainy voice still ringing faintly in his head.

He looked around. Surprisingly enough, he found himself to be upright. From what he could tell, he was in the warehouse that he had seen just before passing out. He weakly tried to move his arms, but could barely lift them. Looking down, he saw that he was tied to a board of sorts… Wait, was he tied to a cross? He scoffed a little, then cursed as he realized that he was in the captivity of some freaky stalker of Cas' and completely screwed.

"Awake already, are you? Castiel is not even here yet." The smug sound of Uriel's voice sent a shiver of disgust down Dean's spine. "Thanks to you, drawing him out will be easy," A sneer crossed his face. "But perhaps, I should give him some more… Incentive to come rescue you."

Dean barely had time to comprehend his words when he felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down to see a strange-looking blade embedded in his flesh.

Dean gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, trying his best not to cry out. Uriel seemed mildly amused by his efforts. He turned and took a few steps away from him, throwing his hands into the air.

"Castiel!" he shouted, his head tilted towards the ceiling. "I know that you can hear me as Anael could. Listen well! If you do not come quickly and face your punishment, your precious human, that you tried so hard to save, will die!"

A wave of confusion hit Dean. Did he really think that Cas could hear him? _Could _Cas hear him? Maybe he was delirious , but he didn't find it that hard to believe at that point. Confusion changed to dread. He was probably going to die. But if Cas did somehow know he was here and came as Uriel asked, would he be the one to die?

Uriel turned back to him them, his expression as serious as ever.

"He will be here soon. Try not to die too quickly."

Intense pain shot through his side as Uriel twisted the blade before pulling it out. This time Dean did cry out in pain. Shortly after, he fell unconscious again.

* * *

When Dean woke up for the umpteenth time, it was to the sound of his name being called. He blinked away the blurriness of his vision to see Castiel standing at the entrance to the warehouse.

"Dean!" he called again, stepping cautiously further into the warehouse.

"Cas," he choked out hoarsely.

Relief crossed noticeably across Cas' face and Dean internally remarked that this was one of the only times that he had seen such obvious emotion on his face.

Uriel stepped out of the shadows, a subtle smugness about him. "You have come, Castiel. A noble choice."

"Uriel," was all he said, with a slight inclination of his head, in return. Dean could see the fear and worry, mixed with what might have been anger, in his eyes, but, as soon as Uriel had arrived, he did not let it show on his face. He kept his expression hard and emotionless. Dean had to admit that, for a man so much smaller than himself, he looked threatening. If Uriel felt at all intimidated, he did not let it show.

"So, are you ready to die?" Uriel asked with an unusual casualness.

"If it will save Dean Winchester," his eyes flicked over to Dean for a moment as he swallowed loudly. "I will do what I must."

Dean felt the blood run from his face. Castiel was going to give up his own life for him. The ache in his side began to fade from his mind as he watched, wide-eyed.

"No, Cas, don't-"

"Dean," he interrupted. "I have my reasons for doing this."

Uriel stepped forward, blade in hand, towards Castiel. Dean felt his heartbeat quicken. He had wanted to see Cas, but not like this. He wanted to see him at his shop, at a bar, hell, maybe even while they were having dinner together. But he didn't want to see him die. Uriel raised his blade above him (ever the melodramatic) as he neared his target. Dean struggled against the ropes tying him up, but they were bound too tightly and he was too weak to be able to break free. Uriel drew closer, stopping just in front of Castiel. _No, no, no, no, no, _the words pounded in his head, almost like a prayer. As Uriel began to bring his blade down on Cas, Dean felt himself shouting, "No, Cas, no, don't. Castiel!"

The sound of his full name being called seemed to make something shift inside Cas. Within two seconds, the blade was out of Uriel's hand and in Castiel's. Shock was painted clearly on Uriel's face as Castiel mercilessly, with a somewhat unnerving efficiency, drove the blade into his heart. Castiel jumped back immediately when a white light began to pour from Uriel's eyes and mouth, growing and becoming ever more blinding by the second, and threw an arm over his eyes.

"Shut your eyes!" he called. Dean squeezed his eyes closed as tightly as he could, but suddenly there was an explosion of light that penetrated even through his eyelids. When the light faded, he opened his eyes tentatively, his eyes taking a good few seconds to adjust. Castiel was standing up, shaking slightly, though Dean could not understand why. He looked over at Uriel. He was lying on the floor, some of his joints twisted at unnatural angles, presumably from falling, with great scorch marks stretching out from his back in the shape of wings, imprinted on the cement.

"Cas… What…" Dean breathed when Cas started untying the ropes around his legs, then arms. As Dean dropped to the floor, he was steadied by firm hands around his waist.

"Later," he mumbled, sounding somewhat dejected. "I'll explain later. We have to go. You're bleeding out and they won't take lightly to Uriel's death."

"Who are 'they'?" he asked and then, when he received an exasperated look, added. "Right. Later."

Then, a smug and somewhat teasing voice came from the entrance of the warehouse, where a short, cheeky-looking man was standing.

"Got to hand it to you, baby bro, that was pretty bad-ass."

* * *

Hey, guys, sorry for the long wait! But here's the next chapter! Please let me know what you think. ^_^


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